[ He looks uncertain for a second, nearly saying, "You haven't dealt with thugs like these."
But— maybe she has. Last night proved that he knew far less about Gamora than he ever thought he did. He probably shouldn't flatter himself in thinking that she's fucked with anyone tougher than the folks he's tangled with.
He positions himself on her wounded side again, letting her lean her weight against him as they make the short walk over to the club. The Arrow is a rundown nightclub that pretends it might have once had better days, but probably always started out looking rough around the edges. The bouncer at the door doesn't do much more than cast the two of them steely-eyed, suspicious looks. Peter recognizes him, but the bouncer doesn't seem to recognize Peter.
The club isn't exactly packed, but it's busy enough that the members of Yondu's gang clearly aren't the only customers. It boasts two floors, though the second floor isn't much more than a mezzanine overlooking the first floor. Dancers taking up a modest amount of space in the main area, with other customers milling around standing tables or lounging in booths. Loud music blares over the speakers, the bass drumming through the floor. The place stinks of alcohol and the faint undercurrent of sweat.
He almost missed this place.
He's carefully maneuvering them toward the stairs, except a tall, thin, greasy-looking guy with an asymmetrical undercut steps in their path. He stinks of beer, swaying a little as he flashes the two of them a feral grin. ]
Well, if it ain't li'l ol' Petey. Almost didn't recognize you in them fancy clothes.
[ He reaches out, tugging on the lapel of Peter's jacket. Peter bats his hand away, instinctively pushing Gamora behind him. ]
Get out of my way, Halfnut—
[ But Halfnut grabs the front of Peter's shirt, eyes flashing. ]
Now, that ain't no way to treat an old friend, is it?
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But— maybe she has. Last night proved that he knew far less about Gamora than he ever thought he did. He probably shouldn't flatter himself in thinking that she's fucked with anyone tougher than the folks he's tangled with.
He positions himself on her wounded side again, letting her lean her weight against him as they make the short walk over to the club. The Arrow is a rundown nightclub that pretends it might have once had better days, but probably always started out looking rough around the edges. The bouncer at the door doesn't do much more than cast the two of them steely-eyed, suspicious looks. Peter recognizes him, but the bouncer doesn't seem to recognize Peter.
The club isn't exactly packed, but it's busy enough that the members of Yondu's gang clearly aren't the only customers. It boasts two floors, though the second floor isn't much more than a mezzanine overlooking the first floor. Dancers taking up a modest amount of space in the main area, with other customers milling around standing tables or lounging in booths. Loud music blares over the speakers, the bass drumming through the floor. The place stinks of alcohol and the faint undercurrent of sweat.
He almost missed this place.
He's carefully maneuvering them toward the stairs, except a tall, thin, greasy-looking guy with an asymmetrical undercut steps in their path. He stinks of beer, swaying a little as he flashes the two of them a feral grin. ]
Well, if it ain't li'l ol' Petey. Almost didn't recognize you in them fancy clothes.
[ He reaches out, tugging on the lapel of Peter's jacket. Peter bats his hand away, instinctively pushing Gamora behind him. ]
Get out of my way, Halfnut—
[ But Halfnut grabs the front of Peter's shirt, eyes flashing. ]
Now, that ain't no way to treat an old friend, is it?